


Ensnared: Points of View

by combatfaerie



Series: Ensnared [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Brollins, Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Multi, Sesha, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, rollynch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27987480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combatfaerie/pseuds/combatfaerie
Summary: ENSNARED: POINTS OF VIEW takes the scenes from the original ENSNARED and tells them from a different character's perspective. These won't make sense if you haven't read ENSNARED first, but you don't need to read these to understand ENSNARED. Updates will be at random.
Relationships: Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox/Sasha Banks/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black, Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch | Rebecca Knox, Sasha Banks/Seth Rollins | Tyler Black
Series: Ensnared [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049843
Kudos: 6





	1. Ch. 5 - Becky's POV

_As long as there's coffee, I'm good. If you have a preference, though, you'd better hurry._ Of all the things she can say, why does she choose that? The full-moon nights are the only times she allows herself to let her guard down even the slightest bit, and Sasha's already taken off, challenging them to a dare. It's the perfect opportunity to talk to Seth and she suspects Sasha did it on purpose, but there's no way to tell for sure: they're all more playful on a full-moon night, so maybe Sasha just wanted to break the tension and get them running.

Maybe it's tasting the ghost of Sasha's lip gloss while knowing Seth is watching her disrobe, but Becky's nerves feel frayed, ready to catch fire at the smallest spark. _How does Sasha do this?_ she wonders as she takes off her leggings. Sometimes being in a relationship with just Sasha is enough to overwhelm her; how could she possibly handle being involved with Sasha and Seth at the same time? Becky pauses with her hands at the back of her bra. _Maybe I should skip this run,_ she thinks. She's too wound up, and while that's usually the best reason to run—to release all the tension of the month before—she can't shake a nagging feeling of unease. As she unhooks her bra, she glances over at Seth, but he's politely looking at her knees; he's seen her naked dozens of times now, but there's a difference between seeing and gawking and, to his credit, he's always tried to stay on the right side of that line. Still, she wishes he would be slightly less than polite just once. 

_Would he stay if I asked?_ she wonders as she finishes undressing. That's something she's thought about more than once as well. It's not like Sasha and Seth just discovered they were both werewolves and then fucked on the spot, after all; there had to be some attraction, some conversation. As far as Becky goes, the attraction is definitely there—awkward and annoying at times, but there; it's the conversation that's holding her back. Sasha was the one who had approached her when she joined NXT, so she doesn't exactly have a frame of reference for seducing a fellow werewolf. _God, woman, you're a mess,_ she chastises herself, taking a swig from the bottle of water they use to rinse off after their run.

"Since I'm driving, I'd better." 

It takes a moment for Seth's words to make sense, for Becky to link them back to her own. Nodding, she follows him out of the cabin so he doesn't have to delay his transformation any longer, at least not on her account. As she crouches down, it almost looks like he wants to say something, but then he smiles and gets ready to shift.

He's faster than she is—he usually is, and Becky sometimes wonders if he would spend whole days in his wolf form, if given the choice—and he trots over to her, looking like an amiable, if very large, dog seeking head pats. "I'm good. Go on. I'm surprised Sasha hasn't called us yet." Then she strokes his ears, resisting the urge to kiss the soft spot between them.

Seth hesitates for a moment—another moment she doesn't seize—before tearing into the forest, so fast Becky loses sight of him within seconds. Her shift is well underway now, so she can't call out to him to wait or come back; her throat is somewhere between human and wolf and any sound she would make would sound anguished, so she doesn't want to alarm him. Once her transformation is complete, she does a quick circuit around the cabin to get used to being on four legs.

As someone who can catch a chill from an icy stare, Becky's always revelled in the inherent warmth of her wolf form, but when she hears a gut-wrenching howl, she feels numb, as cold and slow as a glacier. _That's Seth._ The realization gnaws at her gut. Late last year Seth had been hit in the eye with a branch while running and let out an agonized howl, but this spunds so much worse.

_Seth!_ She doubts he'll hear her panicked yip over his own howls, but she wants him to know she's coming. Since the forest is mostly empty, it's easy to find and follow his scent trail, weaving through the trees while trying to keep alert for whatever caused him so much pain. It only takes her a few moments to reach him—he mustn't have gotten very far on his run—but it feels like hours, and even though every muscle in her body strains to go check on him right away, she forces herself to survey the scene for any further threats.

_He's hanging_ is her first thought, though it's not completely true. She can see something thick and metallic cinched around his neck, jerking his head back at a painful angle, and she smells his blood before she spots the glistening darkness in his fur. _Some sort of animal trap_ , she thinks, rushing over. Seth is howling, thrashing around in agony, and in her heart she's right there with him. Her mind retains enough humanness, though, to realize he's only hurting himself more, so she tries to pin him down with her front legs, gently but firmly closing her mouth over his muzzle. 

The moments it takes him to calm down shred her nerves to bits, but Becky forces herself to remain steady. Sasha's surely heard his howls by now and will come running back, but for the time being, she's all Seth has. His eyes, widened by panic, roll up to meet her gaze, and she can only hope she looks reassuring, or at least friendly: if he lashes out at her, he'll only hurt himself more. Once Seth isn't writhing any longer, Becky moves back. _Wait._ Her bark is as authoritative as she can make it given her fraying nerves.

Her mind feels like an overloaded circuit and she's sure there's a hundred things she should be doing, but all Becky can think of is to shift back to human form. It will hurt like hell and she'll be weak, maybe too weak to be of any help, but hands will be more useful than paws. _Should I howl for Sasha?_ she wonders as she crouches down to reverse her shift. She takes a deep breath instead; if Sasha didn't come running at the commotion Seth made, one plaintive howl isn't going to reach her.

Everything in Seth's howl—blood, torment, desperation—both fuels and floods her transformation. A werewolf's body isn't designed to switch back and forth between forms so quickly; only shapeshifters have that gift. Everything breaks: her bones, her mind, her connection to reality. Sometimes she can feel a howl crowding her throat; the next minute it's a scream. Paws claw at a human face, then hands pull back at the bite of a predator's teeth. Throughout it all she can barely see Seth; everything is a red haze, as if she's curled up inside her own heart, drowning in blood.

_Stop!_ The word is so small, so soft, but just as broken as she is, and her whole body turns toward it, a wilting flower to a dying sun. _Stop it, Becky!_

_Seth needs me._ Becky plants that thought in her mind like an anchor and drags herself through the last stage of the transformation, flopping like a rag doll on a bed of twigs and leaves made sticky with her own blood and the clear plasma that accompanies the most brutal transformations. "Stop . . . moving." Is she saying that to Seth or to herself or to the world at large, which seems to be whirling and heaving around her? As she crashes into a tree, Becky tries to rub plasma out of her eyes, but she's shaking so violently that she ends up hitting her nose instead. _I'm useless to him,_ she thinks dismally. All that effort, all that rushing, and she might as well be handcuffed. This is no time to wallow, though, not with the scent of Seth's blood burning her nose. "SASHA!" 

It's no time for pride either, so when she collapses to her knees, Becky doesn't hesitate to crawl over to Seth, who's gone alarmingly quiet. _Nonononono. Please no. Please no._ She pulls as much air into her lungs as she can and screams for Sasha again, and the exertion almost makes her fall against Seth. _Snare?_ she thinks vaguely as she gets a better glimpse of the glinting menace wrapped around his neck. He's whimpering now, and she recognizes the low tone that means _Hurt_ —sometimes on its own, sometimes with another note that her brain is too scattered to translate—so she frantically tries to wedge her fingers between his wounded neck and the metal noose.

The snare isn't barbed, but it's hard and sharp and Becky's control over her fingers is still shaky at best, so it doesn't take long until she's not sure which blood is Seth's and which is hers. She refuses to give up, though, and she takes a breath so deep she wonders if she didn't transform properly after all and has gone hollow inside. "SASHA! COME BACK!" Plasma is no longer her biggest worry when it comes to her eyes; she's crying uncontrollably, tears that are equal parts terror and frustration. She hates to ruin Seth's beautiful fur, but she doesn't dare move her hands and lose the precious space she made for him. "I'm sorry." With tears cascading over her cheeks and mouth, her words sound like bubbles popping. "I'm sorry. I . . . I can't break it on my own. I don't have my strength back yet. I should have tried to bite it off or. . . ."

When Seth turns his head and starts licking her face clean, Becky has to laugh. It's such a dog-like trait that it's easy to forget he could easily tear her throat open with his teeth. _Stop now?_ She's already shaking, but his plea makes her shiver, and her tears start up again when he bumps his head up against hers.

_Silly puppy,_ Becky thinks, and if she could move her hands, she would ruffle his ears. She shakes her head instead, trying to quell her shakes so she doesn't jar the snare too much. "Don't struggle." Now it's her turn to make pleas, and she just has to hope he can understand her past his panic and his pain. "It'll make it tighten up." Adrenaline and cold are conspiring against her, making her tremble when utter stillness is paramount. "SASHA! HE'S HURT!" It's primal and it's the closest she's come to howling in human form, and the wolf in her—denied its run, its moon—wants to rise to the song. _What's taking her so long?_

Seth is starting to wriggle around again, the discomfort clearly getting to him, so she presses closer to keep him still. "You can't turn back yet." She understands the urge, the fear, but horrible visions of the snare slicing clean through his neck make her lungs constrict. "It's not safe. You would move around too much during the shift and it would tighten—" When his ears prick up, she feels her shoulders tense in kind; some of her wolf senses are still trying to come through, but even in his wounded state, his will be stronger. If something—or someone—is coming and it's not Sasha, she'll have to choose between keeping the snare from tightening on Seth or defending them both.

When she sees Sasha, still in wolf form, running towards them, Becky slumps with relief. "You'll be okay." Her heart beat feels strangely slow until she realizes that it's finally returning to normal; it had been so high, so frantic, for so long that she got used to the rush. "Sasha can help."

_You help._ Becky doesn't think Sasha caught Seth's yip before she started to revert to human form, but she knows Sasha will appreciate it anyway. Sasha's always been the glue that's held them together, kept them strong. 

Sasha's transformation is too difficult for Becky to watch, though—her muscles are still twitching from her hasty reversal—so she focusses on Seth. She would love nothing more than to pet his head, stroke his back, comfort him, but she's too afraid to move her hands. So she curls up as close to him as she can, even though it puts her arms at uncomfortable angles, and tries to focus on breathing, on _being_ , and not the fact that once again, she wasn't enough.


	2. Ch. 6 - Seth's POV

_Come back. We need to get you to a doctor, not a veterinarian._ Seth recognizes the voice, but it's not the one he wants to hear the most right now. Becky had forced herself to change back too quickly and he needs to know that she's okay, but pain is beating on the inside of his head, trying to force its way out—through screams, through vomiting, it doesn't care—and it's all he can do to breathe.

He hears voices, some real and some not, and the ground beneath him seems to heave as his transformation finally begins. What's left of his throat is torn by howls as his body wrenches from side to side, from wolf to human, and when he's done he's flat on his back, looking up at the stars.

"Sit up slowly." There's the voice he needs to hear, low and lyrical. "I'm going to clean you up a bit, okay? Let me know if it hurts." Then there's splashes of water starting at his wound and working their way down, followed by the softness of a towel. "Sorry, sorry. Just trying to clean you up enough that you don't look like a walking murder scene." 

Seth's body is resolutely human now, but his mind is drifting back and forth, and his balance follows suit. Becky helps him to his feet, though, in slow, gentle stages, which makes him feel like an accordion unfolding. "That bad?" he croaks, unleashing a fresh burst of blood from his throat.

"Press that against your neck," Becky instructs, handing him a dry towel. "And hold on to my shoulder." He can feel her shaking when he does, but she's trying to hold it together and not doing too bad a job. His frame of reference is skewed by the circumstances, though, given that he could have been beheaded. When he forces his eyes open, he sees Becky kneeling beside him, gaze politely averted as she sets his shorts on the ground so he can step into them.

Before he can thank Becky, though, Sasha's back, tossing his shirt, a towel, and other debris into the cabin before pulling the door shut. "That'll do. We need to get to a hospital. That wound's not closing up fast enough. There could have been poison on the snare too." While Seth is still adjusting to being on two feet—to standing up at all, really—Sasha checks Becky's wounded hands and her own. He's glad to see that their hands are already starting to heal, even if it's not as fast as it should be. "Give him some serum after we get in the SUV. We should take some too, but we can do that when we get there."

Even though Becky's standing a few feet away, Seth can still feel the chill that sweeps through her. "You're driving?" She's not nearly as bad a driver as everyone likes to joke, but it's not really something she enjoys either.

Seth starts to speak up, but Sasha kisses Becky gently. "We want to get there in one piece, Becks." Then she gives Becky more instructions before heading to the back of the SUV to get their go-bags. The serum is important—even in his woozy state, Seth knows that—but he hates how it makes him feel. He's so used to feeling like a werewolf—strong, wild, free—that having his biology seem human, even if it's only for a short time and a good reason, feels like a downgrade.

"Okay." Becky's hands are cold with shock as she helps him into the back seat, but they feel nice on his bare back. As soon as she lets go so she can also get in, he misses her steadiness.

Sasha isn't quite so gentle when she pushes Seth down so that his head is pillowed by Becky's thigh. "Keep pressure on his wound, but not too much. Some blood will make it look more natural." Then doors are closing and opening, but Seth is fixated on Becky's jaw. Even from this angle, it's gorgeous.

"They were set at coyote height." Becky's words are punctuated by clicking, plasticy sounds before Sasha guns the engine. Even with being so close to her and still having some vestige of his werewolf hearing, Seth can't make out most of what she says next.

Sasha's voice is so clear that it's obvious she wants him to hear. "Ass is fastest."

_Needle,_ Seth thinks. He hates the serum, hates feeling like anything less than a wolf, but they can't risk going to a hospital and having any discrepancies show up in his blood. "Arm," he counters, holding out his good arm. He can tell by the way her thigh tenses up beneath him that Becky is nervous, but he barely feels the needle go in. There's a slight breeze when Becky folds the towel and presses it to his wound, and he lets the air wash over his face before looking up at her. "How bad?" He feels like a cartoon squirrel with a mouthful of acorns trying to recite Shakespeare.

Becky smiles at him and even though it's tremulous, it's still as welcome as a single ray of sunshine during a storm. "It probably looks worse than it is." She says more and he can tell by her tone that she's trying to be hopeful, but the words are darting in and out of his mind before he can process them all. When she uncaps another syringe to inject herself, Seth wills himself to be utterly motionless.

Maybe it's the snare. Maybe it's the serum. Maybe it's the simple, heady joy of being so close to Becky and having her not retreat, but Seth's focus sways and shifts, going from almost painfully clear to clouded in a breath. Sasha's swearing at something and the volume on the radio roars to life as she presses a wrong button; she must have been trying to look up something on the navigation screen.

And Becky's playing with his hair. One hand is still on his wound, but the other is working through his curls. It's so soft, so subtle, that she probably doesn't even realize she's doing it, so Seth stays as still and silent as possible. He can feel her pulse hammering in her thigh, beating steadily against the back of his head, but his heartbeat feels like it's going into hibernation, utterly safe and sated. When Sasha asks how he's doing, he manages one word— _Yeah_ —and hopes it doesn't break the spell.

He doesn't move. It's so hard not to, to not inch closer and snuggle in, but he can't risk it. When her thumb brushes over his forehead instead of his hair, Becky startles. "Sorry," she whispers. She must have thought he had fallen asleep.

When she starts to move her hand away, Seth reaches up and grabs her arm gently. "Don't stop. Please." Somehow he's feels both like he's half asleep and yet also more awake, more aware, than he's ever been in his life. "It's nice. It helps."

"You're sure?" When he nods slightly, making her thigh move, Becky takes a deep breath that shudders through her lungs. "Okay." Now that it's been brought to her attention, though, she's suddenly self-conscious, and it takes her a few minutes to lose herself in the rhythm again. The next time her thumb grazes his hairline, she barely flinches. Her blood has mingled with his on her hands, combining their scents in a beguiling way they've never been merged before, not even when Sasha comes to him right after she's fucked Becky. It makes him want to reach up and grab one of her hands and lick it clean, but he knows it would shatter the moment. For now, any touch is a luxury and he'll cherish whatever she gives.

Listening to Becky's heartbeat gradually even out again, Seth knows it's comforting for her too. He also knows that twenty minutes of this isn't nearly enough.


	3. Ch. 7 - Seth's POV

Between working out, wrestling, and being a werewolf, Seth spends most of his time shirtless, but it still feels weird to go into the hospital only half clothed. To his surprise, Becky offers to go in with him before Sasha can even say anything. During the drive, he could feel the tension in her muscles wax and wane, but since she had the least amount of wolf time of any of them, he can hardly blame her for being tense.

When he reaches for his fanny pack, Becky grabs it and her purse. She clearly wants to get this done as quickly as possible, and it makes him miss the gentle if strained moment they had in the SUV, with her stroking his hair and him trying to bask as much as possible because he knew it was going to end far too soon. As he's stepping out of the SUV, he hears Sasha ask a question and is grateful she gestures at the towel in his hand, because he barely registered what she said. His mind has mostly cleared, but now his heart is a tangled mess. Guessing that she asked if he wanted a new towel for his wound, he slowly removes the one he has. Thanks to the serum, he won't be healing as quickly; if it had been a wound without any danger of poison, they could have left it to its own devices and it would likely be closed by now. This one is still bleeding sluggishly, throbbing out of beat with his pulse. "Nah. They won't want it for testing, and it'll make it look like the wound was more blood than anything." Then he glances over at Becky, remembering how shredded her hands were, but he can't tell how bad they are beneath the dried blood. "Did you want to clean up first? I can get myself checked in."

Becky shakes her head. "I'm good. I'll have to have a run tomorrow or something." The strain is starting to come out in her voice now, tightening her vowels. "But I should be able to fit in a workout before the event—"

Normally the scent of blood evokes a hunting hunger, but Becky's hands are calling to him in a different way. "Let me see your hands." Not wanting to risk Sasha's wrath, Seth keeps one hand pressing the towel against his neck, but the other reaches for Becky's arm. She's so intent on avoiding his grab that she nearly runs into the automatic door, and he's glad no one was on their way out. From the parking lot to the waiting area, the place looks fairly empty, which is both good and bad: hopefully it means they'll be seen and attended to faster, but it also means they're more likely to stand out in the minds of the staff, so they'll have to be careful to be as bland as possible. Stopping just inside the doors, he shoots Becky a pleading look. "Becky, please—"

But the nurse at the front desk has already spotted them and she looks up from her paperwork to smile at them. "Good evening. How can we help?" Her gaze flicks over both of them with professional quickness, used to assessing injuries in a hurry.

Seth glancess at Becky for a moment before stepping forward, leaning his free arm on the raised part of the desk. _We really should have coordinated our stories on the way over,_ he thinks dimly. Not that he would have had much to contribute: Becky's fingers in his hair had reduced his brain to mush. "We were camping and I went out for a hike and got caught in a snare." Becky's eyebrows spike just a fraction, but she's mostly turned away from the intake nurse, who doesn't seem to notice. "My girlfriend got it off as soon as she could. . . ."

_Shit._ Where had that come from? Maybe it's because he can still feel her fingers gliding down his scalp or the comfort of her thigh beneath his head. _Maybe she'll think I meant Sasha. Did she even notice?_ Words are still coming out of his mouth as he tries to describe the snare—"No, we never thought to bring it with us"—and anything they might have noticed around the area where the snare was set. When the nurse asks him to move the towel aside so she can look at his wound, Seth glances over at Becky, prepared to meet angry, narrowed eyes. Instead she looks like the proverbial deer in headlights, her mind gone blank, and when the nurse asks about her hands, Seth has to give Becky a gentle nudge. _Shit. She definitely noticed._

"I'm sorry," Becky says at last, sounding genuinely confused. "Hearing difficulties." Tapping her ear, she smiles sheepishly at the nurse. "Could you repeat that?"

"How are your hands?" Unsure how bad Becky's hearing difficulties might be, the nurse holds out her own hands in demonstration. "Some of those snares the local hunters use can be nasty."

Stammering, Becky holds out her hands to be inspected, but her gaze is on the entrance, frantically watching for Sasha. "A little sore, but they're not bad. I was too worried about his neck."

The nurse smiles indulgently at Seth. "You're lucky you have a quick-thinking girlfriend. Some of those snares can break bones, so it won't hurt to do some scans." She gestures at the virtually empty waiting area. "It's a quiet night—rare for a full moon." The nurse laughs, but the reminder puts Seth on edge. None of them had a proper run, so they'll all have to be extremely careful to make sure nothing in the hospital triggers a transformation. "We should be able to get you in right away. What's your name, sir?"

When the nurse hands him an intake form, Seth hesitates over the name portion. Has Becky said his name yet? It's not a problem for her, since her legal name and ring name are so close, but in the end he puts down his legal information. The nurse doesn't seem to recognize them, at least, so their visit hopefully won't make the rounds on Twitter.

When Sasha finally enters, she hurries over to him and Becky. "Sorry about that. The back hatch didn't want to close."

As the nurse peers over the desk to examine Sasha's hands, Seth tries to get Becky's attention, hoping to try explaining the girlfriend comment—if he can even string together words—but before he can open his mouth, the nurse is talking to him again. "Do you want your girlfriend listed as your emergency contact, Mr. Lopez?"

Sasha's leading Becky over to the chairs, but she clearly heard the nurse—which means Becky did too. " _Girlfriend_." Sasha's voice is low enough that the nurse won't be able to hear her, but Seth can if he focusses. "Did you say that or did he?"

When Becky starts to reply, Seth tilts his head so he can listen closer, but the printer is making his admission bracelet and all he can hear is the mechanical whirring. Then another nurse comes along and leads him down a hallway, and all he can sense of Becky is her scent lingering in his hair. A parade of people follows: this one draws his blood, and he can tell she's disturbed by the way he watches the vial fill up with viscous red; that one asks him about his allergies for what feels like the twentieth time, making Seth snarl. 

It all goes downhill after that, his temper as shredded as Becky's hands had been, and as much as he knows he has to maintain control—for Becky, for Sasha, for himself—it's hard to think past the incessant buzzing of the overhead lights and the lingering odour of someone's fast-food dinner. Someone is pushed—he knows he did the pushing, but that's all—and then voices rise, most of all his own. All he wants is to know that Becky and Sasha are okay, that they haven't been poisoned; why don't they just answer him?

Then a tiny pain, like a small spark landing on his arm while sitting at a campfire, and some damnable human drug finds the serum coursing through his system and twines around it like ivy, making him weak, then woozy, then out completely.


	4. Ch. 8 - Becky's POV

"He's fine." Sasha's inflection is almost flat from saying the same words so often, like a groove worn into a well-trodden floor, but the repetition doesn't stop Becky from looking over at Seth constantly. Whether as a human or as a wolf, he's always been so active, so vibrant. To see him so pale and passive on a hospital bed eats away at her resolve. "The nurse said the drugs will wear off in less than an hour."

_Less than an hour._ That's not much comfort at all. Seth was injured by the snare in less than an hour. Becky glances over at the bed again and inches closer. If he hadn't needed the human serum, his body would have metabolized the drug within minutes; now that he's been rendered essentially human, though, his body is slower—and weaker. "Why did they give him anything in the first place? I thought they just needed to take some blood and do some scans." She sneaks her hand through the bed rail and squeezes his fingers. He's been jerking randomly ever since the porter brought him in, sometimes in heaves and spasms so violent the bed nearly topples over.

From the look Sasha gives her, Becky's sure she missed something the nurse said, but she won't apologize for being focussed on Seth. Hospitals are foreboding places at the best of times, and a full-moon night is the hardest time for them to stay human; sometimes even the serum doesn't work completely. "The nurse said he was . . . resisting. Being uncooperative. They sedated him for his own safety and theirs." Then Sasha's tone softens. "He was worried about us. She said he kept asking where we were, if we were okay."

It should make Becky feel better—at least he wasn't sedated because he attacked an employee or started to turn wolf—but the guilt never really leaves. "One of us should have gone with him," she whispers, running her fingers over his knuckles. It's probably just her imagination—or wishful thinking, more likely—but he seemed to settle down somewhat when she touched him. "We would have been able to keep him calm." Instead they were getting blood tests done and washing dirt and blood off themselves.

Shaking her head, Sasha comes up to the bed and hugs Becky from behind, kissing her neck. As comforting as the embrace and affection are, though, Becky is still stiff with tension. "Becks, they have regulations. You know that from your concussion."

"I know. I just—" Becky flinches when a particularly long spasm contorts Seth's body. "I hate seeing him like this." She fusses with his sheet for something to do, even though she can tell he's not cold.

"I know. So do I." Sasha tilts Becky's head back and kisses her, smoothing hair out of her face. "I'm going to go ask a nurse what they gave him, okay? And then I want to call the campground and a few other places. Is that okay?"

Becky nods bleakly. "I'm not going anywhere." There's a low rumble of hunger in her stomach, but it can wait. She rests her cheek against the bed rail and barely even registers the chill of the metal.

Sasha lingers for a moment, kissing the top of Becky's head before stepping back. "He's going to be okay, Becks. I promise." Then she ruffles Becky's hair. "I'll be back." She goes over to her bed—the room has four, one for each of them plus a spare—and grabs her purse. "Do you want me to bring you back a coffee?"

"No thanks." It's unlike her and she knows it, but Becky also knows the coffee would just give her jangling nerves even more fuel. "I'll text if anything happens."

Sasha probably says something—a simple _Okay_ or maybe something more—but Becky is already focussed on Seth again. His breathing is deep but laboured and once she hears the door shut softly, Becky lays a tentative hand on Seth's chest. According to the monitor, his heart rate is elevated but still within acceptable limits, but to her, it feels like the buzz of a mosquito, fast and too high-pitched. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster," she whispers, leaning over the rail to hug him as best she can. The bar presses uncomfortably against her ribs, but it's worth it for the way his breathing evens out and how his limbs relax. 

_Of course. Puppy pile,_ Becky thinks, staying where she is despite the discomfort. Being highly social animals, wolves seek comfort in closeness, and werewolves are no different; humans are much the same, if Becky really wants to be honest. In a room filled with strange sounds and smells, of course Seth would be comforted by something familiar.

Reluctantly moving away, Becky tugs on the bed's rails. She's seen them raised and lowered often enough, whether in an actual hospital or on a show, but she can't figure out how to move them and she doesn't want to call for a nurse, so she makes a split-second decision instead. It's not even a decision, really, but more of an instinct. Her shoes are off before Becky even realizes she was moving her feet and then she's gingerly trying to crawl up on the bed. The hospital beds are clearly not designed for two people—it's a tight fit for Seth alone, because of his impressive build—but she has to try.

Seth is difficult to move at the best of times, but Becky can barely budge him. When she tries to squeeze in between his left side and the bed rail, she whacks her elbow so sharply that her whole arm goes numb for a moment. "Mmmmfh?" Seth's eyelashes are fluttering and his jaw twitches, but otherwise he's motionless.

"No!" Becky whispers frantically. "No, no, no. You need to rest." With her elbow throbbing madly, she shimmies into the small space as best she can. She ends up stretching one arm across his chest and pressing close to his side and tucking her feet between the rails just to make room, although the first two concessions are far more enjoyable than the third.

The change in Seth is almost immediate. The fine tremors that had been running through his limbs dwindle to nothing. His heart rate slows and steadies, and his breathing is far less ragged. At first she's not sure where to put her head, since she doesn't want to steal his pillows, so Becky ends up resting her cheek on his shoulder. She's hesitant to put much pressure on his wound, but to her surprise—and a bit of delight, she must admit—it seems to calm him even more. It means she has his left arm pinned beneath her, along with her right, but the discomforts of that and her feet on the unforgiving steel rails seem pale and far away.

_He's so warm!_ Part of Becky wonders if she should be worried about him potentially having a fever, but most of her just wants to cuddle closer and _bask_. She manages to resist that urge a little bit, but succumbs to sleep instead. It's fitful at first, punctuated by the odd beeps from the monitoring machines, but then it deepens, even with the antiseptic smell of swabs and ointment slathered over Seth's wound. There's a moment, when her sleep is still shallow enough to process ripples of noise and movement, when she hears a trio of squeaks: the door, then shoes on the floor, and finally a voice, cut short for some reason. By the time she can rouse herself enough to open an eye and look, however, the door is closed and the room is empty except for her and Seth.

When a gentle puff of air wafts across her forehead, she wakes suddenly to an eyeful of beard and the feel of warm fingers curled around her elbow. "Hey, hey." Seth's voice is thick and dry, but no less magical to her ears. "Nothing's wrong. But your feet are in the railing, so be careful when you move."

_Stupid,_ Becky berates herself as she apologizes and rubs her eyes. Why did she let herself fall asleep? She was meant to be watching out for him, not taking a nap. _I never should have got on the bed._ "Sasha went to make some calls—" A yawn stretches out the last word even more than her accent usually does. "And I . . . well, you weren't reacting well to whatever they gave you, so I wanted to keep an eye on you. I didn't mean to fall asleep." The explanation sounds so feeble, but the cramped quarters of the bed don't give her much space to retreat.

Becky watches with a mixture of embarrassment and relief as Seth flexes his fingers slowly. "Why did they give me anything?" He's sounding more coherent by the second, which is a good sign. "I thought I just needed an x-ray or something." When he settles his hand on her shoulder, though, she fidgets. Puppy piles are one thing; waking up pressed up against someone in a hospital bed is another. 

"You were. . . ." As she tries to think of how Sasha worded it, Becky laughs and tries to free both her arm and his. "Uncooperative, the nurses said. Probably a mixture of the serum and the moon." She makes sure her voice is low, though she doubts anyone would hear _the moon_ and assume anything more than typical full-moon hi-jinks. "But the doctor said everything looks okay. There was no trace of poison, and you shouldn't have any scarring—"

"Because of you." Before Becky can disagree with him, Seth is bringing her hand to his face, and she forces herself to stay as still as she can. "What about you? How are your hands?" When he exhales, the air seems to travel down every single line on her palm, turning the nerves there into white-water rapids. "No scars for you either?" Then he starts running his thumb across her palm. She figures he's checking her skin at first, but then he keeps doing it over and over for no conceivable reason—

"No. Sasha and I are good to go." It's all she can do not to blurt out the words. Her hand is starting to feel fuzzy, almost the opposite of her arm when it had been asleep—this feels too _alive_ , too ready, too vibrant. Saying Sasha's name normally shuts a door between her and Seth, drawing a firm line of _I'm over here and you're over there_ , so why isn't it working this time? She takes a deep breath and adds, "As soon as you feel clear-headed, we can—"

"Thank you." Becky feels it more than hears it, because Seth has his mouth on her hand. Or her hand on her mouth. For a moment, she's not quite sure how many hands she has, because all her focus is on the one. "I should have—"

"Don't." She means it to sound firm, resolute, even authoritative, but it catches in her throat, as captive in her mouth as her hand feels in Seth's grasp. She's not exactly trying to move away, but it's because she doesn't trust herself. "You're okay and that's what matters." Now it's _her_ heart rate that's elevated, _her_ breathing that's rapid, and it's that much worse because she knows Seth can hear all of it.

Even when her fingers start to twitch, Seth still kisses her palm before letting go of her hand. "You'll still need to run. I can spot you—"

"I'll be fine." They're words she hates to say, especially to Sasha or even Seth, because they always feel so trite, but it's too hard to think past her feelings. It's a struggle to move too, to willingly leave his warmth behind and sit up—remembering to move her feet because she knows Seth had mentioned them—but then there's a bigger problem at hand. The bad hasn't gotten any larger, so she has to find away to get up and off the bed without straddling Seth in the process. She ends up still having to touch him—just his good shoulder, but it's enough to make her resolve waver for a moment, just long enough to kiss his forehead. No matter how awkward she feels, knowing he's awake and well is a huge relief. "I'm glad you're okay," she says softly. Then she swings one leg over the railing and manages to find her visitor's chair with her foot. Her exit is hardly graceful, but she gets off the bed and quickly puts her shoes back on before she can be tempted to commit any further acts of stupidity. "Sasha will want to know that you're awake." Her hands are shaking too much to tie her shoes properly, so she settles for tucking the laces in. _Why don't I wear slip-ons on full-moon nights?_ she wonders as she stands. "I'll go find her." Before Seth can say anything, she's at the door and halfway down the hall.

It wasn't a complete lie. Sasha would want to know. But even though it's a small medical facility, it's all doorways and corridors to Becky's flustered brain and when she spots a water fountain against a wall, she stops and gulps down so much water her stomach starts to protest. Then she sinks to her knees and rests her forehead against the cool metal casing, barely even flinching when the fountain's cooling system whirs into motion. Too many emotions are whirling through her all at once and beneath them all is still the wolf, seething at being denied a proper run. It's a dangerous combination, and even with all the practice Becky's had tamping down her feelings, she feels like her luck's run out on that front. Something's got to give, and the best she can hope for is that their little pack survives it.

It feels like hours have passed when Becky manages to collect herself. A nice nurse asks if she's okay, but Becky merely nods and says that she and her friends are ready to go. When the nurse promises to have the doctor check in on Seth, Becky finds the nearest public bathroom and collects herself. _All that water was a horrible idea,_ she thinks as she flushes the toilet and goes to wash her hands. With no other reason to put off the inevitable, she drags herself back to the room and when she enters, it's clear Seth and Sasha were talking about something. _Probably how stupid I was,_ she thinks, wrapping her arms around her stomach. "Sorry. Must have gone the wrong way." The urge to flee is overwhelming; these feelings are nothing she can fight. "I told a nurse we were ready to go, and she's going to have the doctor come back to check Seth's neck before we leave." Frantic for another excuse to leave, she grabs the car keys from Sasha's purse. ''He'll need a shirt, though." It's as good an excuse as any, and it doesn't look like Sasha had thought of it yet. "I'll go grab one. Be right back."

Another hallway and another until she finally recognizes the front lobby, and the doors spit her out into the glorious night. The full moon above should feel like a kindly guardian, but at the moment, it's more of a baleful eye, glaring straight through to her soul.


	5. Ch. 10 - Seth's POV

_I shouldn't be here._ The refrain keeps running through Seth's head, but he's not entirely sure how to take it. Should he be dead? If Becky and Sasha hadn't been so quick, so brave, he likely would be. Part of him still feels guilty for not going with Sasha back to the camp. He's the reason they had to leave in a hurry, after all, and as strong as Sasha is—as a werewolf and as a human—being a woman alone is often a dangerous thing, especially in the middle of a forest. 

But he also doesn't want to be in this room, on this bed, knowing Becky is just down the hall. Waking up beside her in the hospital— _medical facility_ , he allows, knowing that it would make Sasha smile—had felt like sinking deeper into a dream, and he wishes he had been smart enough to fake sleeping so she would have stayed with him longer. Nothing would have happened—except perhaps a kiss, like Sasha had hoped—but he misses that peace. For a few minutes, at least, he hadn't been fighting his feelings, smothering them into silence.

Showering helps. It distracts all his senses, from the scent of his shampoo to the steady rhythm of the water on his back to the foggy haze it conjures on the glass walls. His thoughts are still tangled and twining like ivy, and for a moment he wonders if jerking off would help, but he ends up just standing under the spray instead, focussing on his breathing. Sasha may still need his help, after all, so he wants to be able to hear his phone and get to it quickly.

When the shower starts to run cold, Seth finally steps out and towels off, squeezing some of the water out of his hair but leaving it damp. Having wet hair plastered to his back is uncomfortable, but it will keep him from falling asleep. After grabbing a fresh towel, he checks his phone, but the only unread message is from Roman, asking if he wants to hang out next weekend. Nothing from Sasha, nothing from Becky, and Seth's not sure which worries him more. He wants to know that Sasha's okay, but he also knows the whole incident with the snare spooked Becky more than she probably realizes. _Phones work two ways._ Seth chuckles as his grandmother's favourite saying rings through his head. He can't expect Becky and Sasha to do all the emotional work; after rescuing him, they're both probably drained.

The first knock takes him by surprise. He's halfway to the door before the second knock, but then he remembers that he's naked. "Shit," he mutters, grabbing a pair of shorts from his bag and yanking them on with one hand; the towel is still in the other, swiping at his damp chest. If it's Becky, he doesn't want her to think he's ignoring her, but answering the door nude won't help his chances at a conversation either. Of course, with his luck, Sasha probably ordered in some late-night snacks for both of them, so it'll just be a delivery person—which will mean a tip.

The thought of rummaging through another bag to find his wallet dims his mood as he opens the door, not even bothering to use the peephole or trying to find a scent in the air. The first thing he sees is Becky's fist, coming down to knock again, and seeing her does more for his nerves than the shower did. "Hey." It's hardly a great opening, but they've both had a long day. When he steps back to open the door wider, hoping it's an obvious invitation to enter, he notices that she's not wearing shoes—or socks. Between that and the fact that she's wearing jeans—not leggings or yoga pants—Seth figures she's just as out of sorts as he is.

It's her feet he watches as she steps into his room. Her toes curl into the carpet before stretching back out, and when he shuts and locks his door, her shoulders flinch. "How are the drugs?" she asks, voice falsely cheery. Then she shuts her eyes, and her nose crinkles in an absurdly adorable way. "Not—I mean. . . ."

Seth's very aware that he's barely clothed—and that it wouldn't take much to change that—and the droplets running from his hair down his back aren't helping steady him as he hoped. "I know what you meant." He makes sure to smile and he hopes it doesn't come out as a smirk. "I'm good. I can feel a bit of a haze, but nothing major." Becky will want more of an answer than _I'm good_ , he knows, and she definitely deserves it. "It'll be gone by breakfast. The run helped flush a lot of it from my system."

"That's good." Her hands are in her pockets and he can see her fingers tracing the outline of something small and rectangular—probably her room card; she's nodding as if listening to a song in her head, or running though what she should say. "I just thought it might be like a concussion is, you know? Where you shouldn't be alone?" The words are coming out of her mouth like bubbles, clumping together as one before they pop. "Because of the drugs and whatever. I could keep you company until Sasha gets back if you wanted, but if you're go—"

"Company would be good." He looks away just as she glances up, their gazes one second away from meeting. _Why is this so awkward?_ he wonders. They've been friends and packmates for a while now; it's not like they're strangers. "If you're not busy, I mean," he adds quickly. Between saving him out in the forest and keeping an eye on him in the medical facility, she's done more than enough. "Until Sasha gets back."

"No, I'm good." The way her hands revert to fists at her sides suggests otherwise, but Seth doesn't comment. "Can I—" She stops so suddenly that Seth wonders if she has something caught in her throat. "How's your neck?" she asks at last. "It was looking pretty good when you were a wolf. . . ."

"I think it's good." Seth stops to curse himself. _Good_ is about helpful in a conversation as _fine_ is. He's not going to claim to be on death's door to get her attention, but he knows he doesn't have to sugar-coat things either. "If you don't mind, you could check it out for me. I forgot to turn on the fan in the bathroom, so the mirror was all fogged up."

Seth expects her to see through the flimsy excuse in a heartbeat and when she laughs, he waits for a snappy comeback that never arrives. "Sure." Instead, she comes closer, rising on tiptoe and hesitating before grabbing his jaw. "Just . . . tilt to the side a bit?" Since her hand hasn't moved, it almost feels like she's stroking his beard when he changes position. If Sasha were there, she would say he was acting like a pet dog, nudging his head against Becky's hand in the hopes of being petted. "A little more. Or does it hurt to stretch it?"

He almost starts to shake his head, but he doesn't want to break contact with Becky, slight as it is. "It doesn't really _hurt_. You know how it is." Each word he says makes her fingers slide along his jaw a little bit, so he takes his time with them, drawing them out. "I can feel a bit of strain, so I know something's not normal."

Becky hesitates for a moment and Seth wonders if he's said too much, pushed too far. But her hand doesn't move from his jaw, and then the other one starts exploring around his wound. "Let me know if it starts hurting," she says softly.

 _Hurting._ Seth almost laughs at that, but he doesn't want Becky to misinterpret it. Her touch is like a cool shower on a hot day or a cozy bed on a cold one: it's comfort— _relief_ —and even though they've never been intimate before, it's as familiar as the tattoo on his wrist. When she runs her thumb along the edges of the scar, he has to let his breath out slowly, evenly. Whatever damage was done clearly didn't affect his nerves, because every touch kindles sparks.

"It's almost done healing," Becky reports, kneading the area now with her fingers—still gentle, still tentative, but more purposeful now. "Still a bit hot, but that will fade." Her assessment complete, Seth expects her to move back, but she runs her fingertips back and forth over the wound, almost as if committing it to memory. He just hopes she's not spinning some cautionary tale in her head, chastising herself for not being quick enough.

"Your hands are cold." Not the most brilliant thing he's ever said, but it's better than saying what's in his head, that he wants to feel those fingers running down his back, pulling him in close, wrapping around his— "But it feels nice." He hopes his voice isn't as strangled as it feels. Becky jumps a bit, though, and he instinctively grabs her waist to steady her. Somehow she's still on tiptoe.

"I'm glad—that it's feeling better." Seth gets the sense that it's not what she meant to say, but before he can call her out on it, she's talking again and he doesn't want to miss a word. This is the longest they've been together without Sasha for a while now, and even if it ends in nothing more than a hand on his cheek, he wants to enjoy it. When she rests her forehead on his shoulder, though, surprise zings down every nerve, and delight shivers on the shaky breath she lets out. "I was so worried."

Seth's heart lurches at that and he wonders if she can feel it; she's pressed close enough to his chest that she must, but she's gone quiet. No matter what, he's never wanted Becky to suffer because of him, and throughout the whole ordeal, he's never really considered what it must have been like for her. "I was fine," he assures her. "Because of you." His arms fit around her easily, almost eclipsing her, and he buries his face in her hair. "It was too dangerous to change back so quickly. You could have broken something or—"

"You could have bled out or—" Speechlessness usually isn't a problem for Becky, but she stops abruptly, taking Seth by surprise. He was expecting a speech—helped in part, no doubt, by talking with Sasha—about he had been in danger and it was the pack's job to get him to safety. Instead, she kisses him. It's just his wound, only the wound, but Seth's mind doesn't bother qualifying it that way. Becky's in his arms and not only is she not retreating, she's touching him—kissing him, even. All the aches in his shoulders melt and for a moment he worries that the muscles in his arms will give out and he'll let go of her and shatter the moment. "I don't think I've ever been that scared before," she adds, voice as small as she feels in his arms.

It's not like they haven't touched before. Backstage areas can be surprisingly small, despite the monstrous proportions of some modern arenas. When they run as a pack, they often end up cuddling after, warm and worn out. But there's no Sasha here to defuse the tension, no match coming up to prepare for. There's just him and her—and a hotel room. Seth's still trying to think of something to say that won't ruin the moment when Becky, for no apparent reason, lets out a laugh. Seth hopes it's just nervousness—Becky doesn't strike him as the type to lead someone on and then cackle at their gullibility—but he still raises his head a bit, hoping to glimpse her expression. "Becks, what—?"

His grip on her slackens a bit, but before he can tighten his arms again or even gather his wits, Becky moves back against his arms, cradles his face with both hands, and kisses him.

Seth had worried about ruining the moment. He imagines Becky did too. And in a way, she did. There will be no more first kisses for them, no more wondering what it would be like; they can't craft and curate the moment anymore so it becomes a crystalline memory their friends get sick of hearing about. Seth can never claim he made the first move now, though he supposes that will always be up for debate. So in a very Becky-like way, she ruined the moment—but only by burning it down like a phoenix and making it brighter, hotter, better.


End file.
